


And we'll all go down in flames

by Makemegray



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-26
Updated: 2010-03-26
Packaged: 2017-10-12 18:22:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/127733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makemegray/pseuds/Makemegray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>KHRfest prompt: VI-54 Xanxus/Squalo - in death - "You're late, scum!"..."Well, sorry!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	And we'll all go down in flames

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

| 

  
[character: squalo superbia](http://filthypages.livejournal.com/tag/character%3A%20squalo%20superbia), [character: xanxus](http://filthypages.livejournal.com/tag/character%3A%20xanxus), [khr_fest](http://filthypages.livejournal.com/tag/khr_fest)  
  
  
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**Title:** And we'll all go down in flames  
 **Series:** Kateikyou Hitman Reborn!  
 **Characters/Pairings:** Xanxus, Squalo Superbia; X/S  
 **Warnings:** swearing  
 **Words:** 2038  
 **Notes:** KHRfest prompt: VI-54 Xanxus/Squalo - in death - "You're late, scum!"..."Well, sorry!"

  
  
The mausoleum was a grand thing. Marble up to the sky with the Vongola crest etched in black boldly above the door. It was kept meticulously clean and well guarded by members of the family and had been that way since the Primo was laid to rest within its walls almost four centuries ago. It wasn’t as grand as some of the other mafia burial places around the cemetery but suited the Vongola. Understated and powerful in its simplicity. There was no need to boast about how prestigious the men and women interned within it were. The crest was all that was needed.

Xanxus was unimpressed. There was much more glory in going down fighting, in flames so that there was nothing left of your body to bury. Nothing left of you to sit and rot in some cold stone temple where the family could watch over your corpse for centuries. He didn’t plan on ending up there.

He stood before it with his hands clenched in his trenchcoat pocket and sneered. It was fitting for the Old Man. Who’d let himself wither and fade out like some sort of aristocratic flower. What the fuck sort of mafia boss dies of old age anyhow?

He was still cursing the old bastard when he felt another presence pull up beside him, felt ridiculous hair brush his arm in the wind.

“You’re fucking late, scum…” A snort and Squalo pulled his hair back before his Boss could yank on it.

“Well, sorry! Someone sent me on a last minute assignment and it took a little longer than he said it would.”

Xanxus answered the snort and turned to his subordinate with a curled lip. The only reason that he hadn’t killed the other for the sass was because Squalo was like him. One of those people who wouldn’t let anything as stupid as brittle bones and shortness of breath stop them from mowing down anything and everything in their path. He’d die long before that. Or Xanxus would kill him first.

“Here.” Squalo pulled a bottle from his coat and handed it over to his Boss. A Chateau Mouton-Rothschild, 1976. One of the Old Mans prized possessions. It had been one of the few things that had come into Xanxus’ possession with his adopted father’s death. The wine cellar and all the expensive alcohol contained therein, his weapons collection and a few of his cars. Everything else had gone to the Sawada brat. His rightful heir.

The house he'd grown up in, the attendants who'd served him his entire life. He retained the Varia and their mansion near the southern tip of Sicily. If the fake Tenth had even thought of trying to repossess any of that, he'd have another cradle affair on his hands. His hold of Vongola was challenged enough without having a civil war break out.

The Varia Boss had settled himself with that fact years ago, however. He wasn’t going to be the one responsible for the fall of Vongola. That would be the brat and the Old Man and he was going to sit by and watch it burn with a bottle of 30 year old bourbon and a smirk on his face.

Just thinking about it made him laugh aloud as he sank to the ground in front of the mausoleum, his back against a smaller tombstone, ripping the foil off the wine and pulling the cork wasting no time for ceremony before taking a long drink.

“That Old Bastard…you know, he told me before he died that he would ‘like it if I got along better with Tsunayoshi and not antagonize him so much’…what the fuck sort of bullshit is that?” Xanxus asked with a snarl, following with another drink.

Squalo was unsure if the question had been rhetorical or not but he answered anyway. He was unsure of how to deal with his Boss’ present emotional state…it was almost like he was…mourning or something. This was definitely a situation to be handled with the utmost care.

“Voi…he was as senile as Levi is fucking creepy.” A snort of a laugh and Xanxus managed to get his hands on a handful of Squalo’s hair faster than he could whip it out of the way, tugging the other down to sit next to him on his knees.

“He was always doing shit like that...like this whole fucking thing wasn’t his fault in the first place...Was it supposed to make him feel less guilty or some shit? That he screwed me over and made promises he knew damn well he wasn’t going to be able to keep? Old Bastard…” Another drink and Squalo was sure that it definitely hadn’t been the first bottle Xanxus had dove into that day. The nature of his statements and the way he was holding onto Squalo’s hair, twisting it around his fist and letting it run through his fingers, his eyes focusing on the silver strands with a frown of concentration much too serious for the subject matter. Squalo had seen it before. His Boss was well on the way to being plastered.

He wasn’t sure which part of this was more creepy. The fact that Xanxus cared about something enough to let himself go out of control with the drinking was one thing. But the thing that he cared about? The person he’d professed to hating so much since he was eighteen?

"Boss...how much have you had to drink today?" Xanxus' lip curled at the question and he look down to the bottle, and then back to Squalo, taking another drink as if it was a challenge.

"Who the hell knows...What the fuck does it matter? I'm celebrating. The old fucker is gone and dead, I'm finally free of his guilt trips and shit...good riddance!" He raised the bottle in a mock salute before taking another drink.

If he were anyone else, Squalo would be ill equipped to deal with this shit and would have cut tail and run. He was used to being his Boss' emotional punching bag though. Considered it taking one for the team. When he was feeling particularly self sacrificing and generous he would distract Xanxus from beating a worthless peon to shit, if only because it was mutually beneficial. The little shit would owe him something and he'd get to live.

After nearly two decades of beatings from his Boss, the pain was negligible. He'd never bring it up, but his punches had dulled over the years, at least where Squalo was concerned. Like he didn't necessarily want to kill his right-hand man anymore.

Squalo refused to contemplate the reasoning behind that any longer than he had already. Because it would contemplate and ruin the good thing going and he enjoyed the aftermath of those beatings too much to do something stupid like that.

"Why didn't you just kill him when you had the chance?" He asked, settling himself more comfortably on the ground instead of sprawling where his Boss had pulled him. If he was the dependent sort, he might have leaned against Xanxus then, it would have made the tugging on his hair less annoying if nothing else. But it would also mean that he was submitting to Xanxus' abuse of his person. Which would mean he was weak. Which meant it was absolutely out of the question and was for needy trash like that dumb ass Cavallone or the Fake Tenth and his Fake Guardian brats. No fucking thank you...

Xanxus snorted and took another drink before settling back against the tombstone more comfortably with a sigh. He'd been doing that more and more often lately and it terrified Squalo. Like his Boss was going to be the next one to end up in that mausoleum....

Squalo would kill him before he did...

"What, so I could get frozen again? He may have been old and dusty but..." And there was another sure sign that he was fucking wasted. His lips twitched, one corner turning up and he leaned his head back against the stone, his eyes closing. "He still could have fucking destroyed me." Another snort. "What a fucking loser I was to get caught the first time." And that sounded suspiciously like a regret and that Squalo wouldn't tolerate.

An impatient growl and he made up his mind to snap his Boss out of his morose mood he'd drunk himself into.

He sat up and swung a leg onto the other side of Xanxus' lap, settling down and snatching the bottle from him, taking a drink with the background of his Boss chuckling in response to his movement.

"What do you think you're doing, scum? Do you miss getting beat that much?"

"Like hell. You're the one being weird as all fuck. What happened to him ruining your life? You're talking like you fucking miss him or something or you're sorry that he's dead. And I don't care if you say you are at this point," He stated, forestalling Xanxus vehement claim otherwise as his eyebrows drew down. "You're fucking lying. You wouldn't be sitting here with a bottle of his fucking wine if you were. You would be a strip club or something smacking girls asses and buying whiskey for the house, instead you're fucking here."

Xanxus was silent for a minute before his lip curled and the grip he had on Squalo's hair tightened suddenly as he yanked the other forward, nearly nose to nose with him.

"And just what do you think you know about me, trash? Where the hell do you get off talking to me like that?"

If Xanxus were anyone else, Squalo would have gutted them.

"Who the else is going to tell you when you're being an asshole anymore? The impostor brat is a pussy and Timoteo is dead." That comment had the grip tightening just a little. If Squalo wasn't so used to the grip he wouldn't have even noticed. "Who else knows a goddamn thing about you anymore?"

Another growl and Squalo took another drink from the bottle before shoving it back at his Boss.

"If you're fucking upset then be upset but stop fucking lying. It's annoying as hell. I get it. He's your fucking Dad, cry if you want to and stop being a fucking drunk."

Xanxus stared at him for a second, blinking slowly before he snorted again and broke into a fit of laughter.

"What the hell, stupid shark? Fucking cry? Why the hell would I do that?" Squalo frowned.

"Like I said, your Dad..."

"He wasn't my fucking Dad." An eyeroll this time before the swordsman continued.

"What the hell ever. You're the one depressed not me." He said, folding his arms with a huff. It turned into a squawk that he wouldn't admit on pain of death when Xanxus yanked him forward into a kiss abruptly, heedless of the fact that he'd probably bruised them both.

"You're a fucking sap, trash-shark." He said when he was satisfied for the moment, voice shaking with mirth.

Squalo was ready with hackles raised to retort when he was roughly shoved off his Boss' lap to the ground as Xanxus got to his feet.

He remained sitting as Xanxus walked the short distance over to the Vongola mausoleum, staring up at that crest for a moment before upending the wine bottle on the steps, the liquid staining the marble crimson.

Hesitant to break the silence, Squalo watched as his Boss seemed to come to some sort of decision with another rough laugh and began to make his way out of the cemetery.

"...Boss?"

"Come the fuck on, scum. That strip club idea wasn't a bad one."

Squalo scoffed and didn't move.

"Like I want to watch you ogle whores. No fucking thank you, I'll sit right here and wonder how much it's gonna cost to clean up that goddamn wine." Xanxus stopped walking and turned to his second with a raised brow.

"Who said anything about whores?" It took a good minute for Squalo to figure out what the hell that meant. If he had been anyone else, he might have gotten offended at the implication.

But he wasn't and he answered the unspoken question with a sharp grin as he got up to follow the other.

"I hope you have a shit ton of cash, Boss. I don't come cheap."

 _  
**KHRfest Round Three: Prompt VI-54**   
_


End file.
